Angel
by Iris magic
Summary: It's either the Decepticons suddenly have a Medic of their own or there's something very wrong with the Autobots. Pairings: many implied. Warnings language, mentioned adult situations, OOC.


A/N This is another one of those days when I pick on Ratchet. This is an open ended story. I'll deal with Adversaries when I'm over my writer's block.

I dedicate this story to all those Medics, Nurses and Paramedics who save our life without being appreciated. I also dedicate it to my uncle, whose after work rant about the hard work of a doctor made me write the story.

Rated: M, just in case.

Warnings: Cussing, implied smex, OOC

Disclamer: Nope. Don't own them. Hasbro does.

Feedback: Go ahead. Even criticizing my lack of talent is welcome. But be gentle...

_Italics thoughts_

**Bold written on data pad**

Part 1: Angel

The mech on the berth stirred and let out a distressed sound. His processor hurt, so did his body. And the last thing he remembered was a battle and then- blinding pain.

"Finally, you're awake." A voice sounded to his right. It was familiar and made the injured mech flinch in fear. But why?

"What's wrong, Angel?" The voice asked, tone concerned.

_Angel? I could have sworn I have a different name._ The mech eyed his own hands, to be sure it was still him, and gasped again. The paint has changed from green to spotless white. What was going on?

"Remind me to make that Autoscum pay." The voice muttered darkly.

'Angel' turned and looked at the one who spoke.

"Barricade." He croaked. His autorepair system immediately reminded him that his vocals were damaged, but not severely. _Several hours of silence can cure that._

"Don't speak. You're still weak. That was quite the nasty shot you took. Ironhide shot you a local day ago."

_Ironhide? That name was familiar. He would shoot anything that moves, given the choice._

"Here." Barricade gave him a data pad. "Use this."

"**Where am I? Why can't I recognize even my own name?"**

"Soundwave told us that your memory was damaged when you were hit, and we should be grateful if you recognize any of us. You're at the Decepticon base at Nevada. You're Angel, our Medic. You only arrived three weeks ago, and already got injured. We respect your choice to join our ranks but we'll appreciate if you let the rest of us do the fighting."

_That made sense. _

"**Angel is not a Cybertronian name."** He noted.

"Your original designation, Spark Pulse didn't suit you and attracted lewd comments. So we nicknamed you Angel, because your paint is white, you're helping us, and because the same ways the squishie Angels are believed to represent their deities, Medics are believed to hold the spirit of Primus himself in them."

That explained why he couldn't recognize his own designation. _A nickname._

"Rest now. There are no emergencies and there are no serious injuries."

"**I can't talk. That doesn't mean I can't repair."**

"Starscream was right when he chose you. Tell you what- I'll let you up, but the moment you feel tired, let me know."

Angel smiled.

Barricade escorted him to the infirmary, the way to which he couldn't remember due to his injury, and Angel gasped with delight. It was the opposite of what he remembered.

The room was spotless, and even smelled of some kind of filter- cleaning fume. The tools were in their places, all tagged and cleaned. The berths and the floor by them were covered with easy to clean strips of plastic. And the desk he recognized as his (it felt familiar) had a comfortable chair by it. The infirmary of his dreams.

"What's the surprise? You like it clean, so we keep it clean." Barricade teased. "Oh, you had another one of those nightmares, didn't you?"

"**Nightmares?"** Angel asked through the pad.

"You sometimes dream you're the Autobot medic. You know, the famous Ratchet."

_Ratchet. Green paint. The best medic ever._

"**Why nightmares?"**

"Didn't you hear how the Autobots treat their Medic? You forgot and thank Primus for that. Medics are to be treated well, because they are so rare and talented."

Angel shrugged and pointed at the berths.

"Yes. Time to work. I'll let the others know you're here." Barricade nodded and left.

Angel settled down in his chair and relaxed. It was very cozy and had an inbuilt vibro- system. The white Medic turned it on and closed his optics in delight.

Ten minutes later, a knock came from the infirmary door. _Damn_. Angel nearly forgot he couldn't speak. He stood up from the chair and opened the door. Starscream stood there, supporting Thundercracker.

"No emergencies?" Angel croaked, furious. "Get him in, now!"

"Sorry for making you talk." Starscream said. "It's nothing serious. He just busted his knee joint."

Angel pointed at one of the repair berths and helped Thundercracker to settle on it. He quickly got to work, finding and replacing damaged servos and hydraulics. The Medic allowed himself a moment of satisfaction, before pointing at the door.

"Thank you." Thundercracker said.

Angel felt surprise at the phrase, though he could say why.

The seekers turned to leave, but they stopped at the door and Starscream said:

"It's good to have you here, Angel."

Several other Decepticons came later, all with minor repairs. A chaffed chassis, a light scorching from training accident. They were surprisingly obedient patients, and all thanked him for the work. Soundwave came last. He stood in the entrance for a while before entering. For someone so hard to read, his discomfort was obvious.

"What's wrong?" Angel asked out loud, wincing at the roughness he still felt at the vocals.

"Processor overheating again. Need painkillers."

Angel looked at him and sighed. He gave the Communication officer the needed substance and ordered:

"Go to your room and rest. Next time you need anything, comm me. If you hate the infirmary, there's no need to torture you with coming here."

"Thank you." The telepath nodded, almost visibly relieved.

"You're welcome. All of you." Angel smiled.

He liked his work. Even if he couldn't remember how he got here, he loved the place.

Two months later, the bubble of heaven burst. Nastily so.

Part 2: Ratchet

It's been a while since Will Lennox visited the Autobots on their new base. A two months long mission in Kurdistan kept him away. Ratchet was taken by the Decepticons a week before he left, and he was worried about the Medic. It was an intense battle and in the heat of it Ironhide's shot barely missed Ratchet's head, but the shrapnel knocked the medic out cold and the Seekers took him before anyone could do anything. But now Will entered the base… and immediately heard yelling from the infirmary. The soldier smiled when he recognized one of the voices.

"Ratchet is back, I'll take it." He addressed Ironhide, who guarded the entrance.

"And he's in the foulest mood possible." The weapon specialist said. "Even nastier than usual."

Will listened and recognized several English cusses mixed with some Cybertronian clicks Ironhide used sometimes. The word 'Unicron' was repeated, and so were 'the Pits', 'glitch' and some other colorful 'blessings'.

"What happened?" Will asked Ironhide.

"The Lambo twins happened."

Will remembered the two battle- mechs and their somewhat out of control sense of humor. But what could possibly drive Ratchet that mad?

"Optimus is in there, trying to talk to him." Ironhide noted. "Doesn't seem to work, though."

A loud crash came from the infirmary. Will ran there to help and found himself staring at a color stained Ratchet kicking repair berths over.

"I fragging quit." The medic yelled and turned toward the exit, only to see Will's shocked look.

"What do you want?" He asked angrily.

"Hello, Ratchet. I heard the fighting and thought something happened to you." Will said in a voice as calm as possible.

Ratchet's features softened immediately.

"Oh, I'm sorry. My temper got the best of me. Thank you for worrying."

Will took a closer look at the medic and was suddenly noticed a change in him. Beneath the stains of cheap paint, which was probably spilled on the Autobot as a prank, an impressive artwork was recognizable. White background replaced the green practical paint. A complex image of scales covered Ratchet's left arm from shoulder to elbow, done in silver and blue. The medical symbol of a serpent on a chalice done in red decorated his right chest plate. A strand of runes, done in small details, ran from his hip to his calf joint.

"Wow, great paint job." Will commented. "Where did you do it?"

Ratchet sat down on one un-overturned berth and responded in a dead- tired voice:

"Soundvawe has done it. The scales are just doodles. The runes are an ancient blessing of good health and good love. And you're the first person to notice it in the 10 days I'm here."

"10 days?" Will asked. Something didn't quite fit. "Where were you before that?"

"I was a guest of the Decepticons."

Will's temper started to rise. He turned to Optimus, who stood quietly by Ratchet's desk and asked:

"It took you two months to get him back?"

"Ratchet was in no immediate danger and there were other emergencies." The leader replied.

"What can be more important than a friend in danger?" Will asked icily. "I think I understand your anger, Ratchet."

"It's not that." Ratchet said.

"Then what's wrong?"

"Again, you're the first person on this base to ask. Imagine spending two months in a place where you are appreciated. Imagine that you're greeted every morning by 'Good morning, Angel.' And you reply with 'Good morning, Soundwave', or Megatron, or some random seeker. You enter your work place and find it spotless, just like you left it the day before, after someone actually helped you to clean it up. No one entered it while you weren't there. No one covered it with dirt and traps. Your patients wait until you let them in, unless it's a real emergency. They don't start a paint war while they wait and they don't call you any degrading names. Once you've finished repairing them, you hear 'thank you'. They called me 'Angel'. Not 'Hatchet', not 'Doc', not 'the grouchy one'. The repair bay there had a shelf for thank you gifts. In the thousands of years I serve under you, Optimus, have I gotten as much as a paper- made plane with the words 'thank you' scribbled on it? And when I tried to overwork myself like I often do here, someone would come and remind me to rest. Or if it was something serious, like the thrashing the twins gave Barricade two weeks ago, and I had to work through the night, someone brought me Energon cubes into the infirmary. When I was stiff from filing in medical records, has anyone on this base ever offered me a stretch workout, not to mention the magnificent backrubs the likes of which I've got from Soundwave? Primus, this 'Con is good at anything he does." Ratchet stretched at the pleasant memory. "Jazz used to." He added quietly and covered his faceplate with his hands.

Will approached Ratchet and placed a hand on his leg.

"I'm sorry, Ratchet."

"Don't be. It's not your fault, even remotely. It wasn't you who trashed my infirmary again last night. It wasn't you who called me names. It wasn't you who didn't bother to ask me if there's something wrong up till today." Ratchet's voice became strained. "It also wasn't you whose priorities are so off that I had only 3 decent recharges and one uninterrupted meal since I've got here. You humans are great. Kind, responsive…" Something scorching fell on Will's shoulder and he hissed in pain. Ratchet reached down to check what's wrong, out of pure instinct, and by doing so uncovered his face. The something scorching was an Energon tear, one of many that now fell from Ratchet's optics.

Will never saw Ratchet in such a condition. And frankly, neither did Optimus.

"I don't think that 'I'm sorry' covers it, old friend." The leader approached the Medic.

"Stay where you are. I want nothing from you. Not now." Ratchet said. "Let me clean that burn, Will. They can be very nasty. Energon and humans don't mix well."

"And while you're at it, care to tell me more about the captivity?" Will asked. Ratchet needed to get this out from his system.

"Thank you again for caring to ask. I was lied to about my identity. I was told that I'm their new medic, recruited by Starscream. With the damage I took in battle, I believed it. And the memories of Ratchet were chalked up to nightmares. World's finest medic, mistreated by his Autobot friends. That's what they think of me." Ratchet shot Optimus a venomous glare. "Anything else you wish to know?"

"Yes. You mentioned that Soundwave was the artist that worked on you. Isn't he the guy you all, on both sides, are scared of?"

"Don't get me wrong. It's the same Soundwave and the same Decepticons. They fight in the halls, they are cruel and impulsive and they enjoy terrorizing humans. But Soundwave is amazing. Powerful mind, great analytic skills, and perfectionist in everything he sets his mind on. He's great with his younglings, and only in their presence does he lower his guard and shows his love for music, arts, literature of dozens of planets. Damn, Ravage knows more than I do and she's half my age. And I caught a glimpse of that when we interfaced. It was amazing." Ratchet admitted.

"You did what with whom?" Optimus couldn't believe his audios.

Ratchet rolled his eyes and turned to Optimus.

"I interfaced with Soundwave. And Starscream." The 'and' was stretched into 'aand'. "And Megatron, though only once. And Barricade. And had a threesome with Thundercracker and Skywarp. And indulged in bestiality with Scorpnok. And it felt damn good, each in his own way. Soundwave was my favorite. He knows what you need and he gives it to you. And when I was too tired to move, after the interface, he'd take out his art kit and work on my paintjob."

"They forced you?" Optimus had to ask.

Ratchet actually laughed at that one:

"It started on the fourth day. Starscream asked me if I was wronged somehow. I replied with negative. And he asked me 'then why won't you interface with us?' I looked at him the way Optimus is looking at me now, totally shocked. Starscream explained that he considered me very appealing, and so did the other Decepticons. They tried to drop me hints, but I was too clueless to notice them. Casual interfaces are common in their army. It's practiced to relieve battle tension and because it feels good. But, there's another reason. On my first night after millennia of abstinence, Starscream asked me if I want to activate protective fields or not. I reminded him that he Allspark is gone and no new sparkling will be born. He replied that they didn't give up hope. And besides, he said, I'm a medic. If I can save and maintain life, would it be so strange if I could create life as well? I didn't use protection. Not once. Not even with Megatron, whom they fished out and brought to me to repair. And I fixed him. And guess what the first thing I've heard from him was?" The anger and the hurt returned.

"Let me guess. 'Good work. I feel great.'" Will said.

"Exactly. Gratitude yet again. And good manners. And great interface." Ratchet smiled bitterly.

"But why with so many?" Will asked.

"Because we wanted it. I tried them all, because I'm not bonded. Some I only tried once. Hell, I even had a Cassetticon pile- up. It made me feel young again, with all the good laughs and the crazy feeling. Barricade and Soundwave actually laughed at my banged- up look the next morning, while they helped me to repaint myself. They were my favorites. Barricade's dominance that took the stress away and Soundwave's care that made me happy."

"It seems that you were happier there." Will said. "And you could actually make a difference there."

"And that's why I told Optimus I quit, just as you came in."

"Then go." Will said, amazed by the words he just said. "Freedom is the right of all sentient beings, but so is the pursuit of happiness. And if there's anything that you ever need, let me know. We have a big garage on our farm."

"Thank you." Ratchet said and headed to the base's exit. Optimus and Will followed him soundlessly.

To their surprise, Barricade was parked near the entrance. When Ratchet came out, he transformed to bipedal form and approached the Medic.

"You were crying." He said. "Do you want me to kill the one who'd done this to you?"

"No need. I'm done with wasting energy on that bunch. Let's go home."

Barricade nodded and transformed, Ratchet following suit.

"Will…" He said. "If there's a need for my skills, contact me. And… if there's anything you need, or if you get sick of them like I did, I think we'll find a Casseticon sized recharge berth for you."

With that, he and Barricade drove off.

"What the hell just happened?" Ironhide asked from his post at the entrance.

"Ratchet left." Optimus said. "We've just lost another brother."

"I swear I'll kill those Twins." Ironhide muttered to himself.

Later that day, when Optimus entered the infirmary to collect Ratchet's personal items, he saw something on the medic's desk that made his spark ache. It was a simple metal sheet, folded into the shape of a airplane, painted with nail polish. It was white with red stripes, and had the words 'to our angel' written on it.

End.


End file.
